


But They Adorn the Earth

by lilbatfacedgirl



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M, Medicinal Drug Use, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slavic Folklore, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 07:45:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13209165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilbatfacedgirl/pseuds/lilbatfacedgirl
Summary: When Mikhailo Milkovich is driven out of his village by an angry mob, he expects to die in the frozen forest before he can make it to safety.  A certain red haired forest spirit has other ideas.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooo, I'm making a shift to Gallavich AUs. I am taking some creative liberties with the folklore but, like most myths and legends, there are multiple accounts so who's to say what's the truth. 
> 
> Also, in my head, Mickey's real name is pronounced correctly, which would be MICK-hi-u, not whatever that cop said in 7x9.

“You men are killing the forests, but they adorn the earth, they teach men to understand beauty and inspire him with a sense of majesty.”

_ The Wood Demon _ , Anton Chekhov

 

**Eastern Carpathian Mountains, 1847**

The fur lining of the cloak was double-layered and he thanked God or whatever gods may be watching him for that small comfort.  Such a thing would be considered an indulgence now, what with the village’s current struggles, but his mother had sewn it and gifted it to him six years ago, when times had been better. 

But now his mother was dead, gone nearly as long as he’d had the cloak.  Now the harvest had been poor and the hunting sparse.  The snow fell heavy around him, piling in drifts in the shadows of the tall spruces.  He was far enough back in the tree line that the blaze from the village watchfires barely permeated the thick darkness of the forest at night, but the light was just bright enough to turn the still trees into dancing ghouls, grasping claws, and anything else a terrified mind could conjure.

And Mikhailo Milkovich’s mind was truly fucking terrified.  

There was no reason not to admit it now.  He was alone, truly alone.  There was nothing left for him in the village except death at the hands of the mob that guarded the wooden walls and the lone, narrow gate.  He couldn’t go back.  They’d be on him in a second, ready to tear him to shreds, just as they’d done to his worthless father this afternoon, when the evidence of the elder Milkovich’s grain theft had been laid bare before the other villagers.  His sister was safe, at least.  Her husband might be a boorish, abusive fuck, but he didn’t bare the Milkovich name and thus, the guilt by association was diminished.  Mikhailo, however, was not so fortunate.  As his father’s only surviving son, he had been blamed for the theft alongside the elder man, and the hungry and bloodthirsty mob of villagers had not cared if he was guilty or not.  He was nothing but the worthless and suspiciously unmarried son of the town’s most loathed citizen.  All his death would mean to these people was one less mouth to feed.

The sentries posted along the village walls were staring into the darkness, scanning it for any sign of him.  They were no fools, though.  They wouldn’t venture out, certain that the cold and dark would bring death upon him as sure as any they could dish out.  They were likely right, too.  Already, the bitter chill was finding its way beneath the heavy clock and into the seams of his worn but functional boots.  

He’d stared at the village too long.  There was no hope in that direction.  His whole body was shivering violently and death would only find him faster if he continued to stand in this spot, staring forlornly at his former home.  It had been a shit place to live, if he was honest with himself; vicious people, non-existent chances for betterment, and a sadistic local priest who had often eyed him with knowing, dangerous suspicion.  The isolated little town had been preferable to the unknown wilds of the Ukrainian forest, but just barely.  

Now, though, the wilds were the only chance he had.  The one road out of the village was poorly kept and rarely traveled.  The closest city was Borsa, in Romania, but Mikhailo had never been there, had never, in fact, traveled farther than the river that crossed over the road some thirty miles from here.  It had been too many years since the village yielded a large enough surplus of crops or pelts to make a trading run to the city worth its risk.  Now, though, that risk was the only hope he had.  

Turning his back on the only home he’d ever known, such as it was, he gazed into the blackness of the forest.  He couldn’t stand still any longer, or the cold would take him here and now and what little chance he had would be lost.  He needed to walk away from the walls and into the forest, regardless of his fears.  He would probably still freeze anyway.  Perhaps he’d even be eaten by wolves or the bears that had once roamed so freely through this wood.  It was true that the hunting parties had found little evidence of wildlife over the past few years, but Mikhailo had always sensed that something unnatural had been at work.  

The wildlife wasn’t gone.  The hunters simply couldn’t find them.  

That didn’t mean they wouldn’t find him now.  Being torn apart by a wolf pack would be a fitting conclusion to the shitty hand fate had dealt him in this life.

Another violent shudder ran through him and stiffened his resolve.  He had to move, now, or sit down right here and let the cold have him.  He turned back toward the village, gracing the hated little gathering of wooden huts with one last crude hand gesture.  Then he strode forward into the snowy night.

He walked until the snow tapered and the sun crested over the mountains, shining a cold, weak light down through the white covered trees.  There was no extra warmth in the light.  Occasionally, Mikhailo would let himself sink down and rest for a few moments, but he never stopped long.  He had no food or flint with which to start a fire and it was too cold to linger.  He simply walked, heading blindly towards the river.  He had no plan, only the slimmest hope that somehow, an opportunity might arise that would spare him from death.  He was pragmatic, though.  It was likely that he was simply prolonging the inevitable.  

The cold was inescapable, cutting, clawing, biting at him through his clothes.  As the day wore on, he could feel his body starting to shut down.  His mind was playing tricks on him now, too.  The world was nothing but brown-gray branches and endless, glaring white, but every now and then, he thought he saw a flicker of color, a flash of brightest red, out of the corner of his eye.  When he whipped his head sideways, though, he always found nothing but a steadily oppressive blank palette.

What was he seeing?  It flashed again, to his left, and he found himself stumbling on half frozen feet in instinctual pursuit of the tempting glimpse of color.  Where was it?  Was it even real or was this the final sign that his body was succumbing to the bitter cold?  With a quick glance around him, Mikhailo realized with a sinking heart that he had been wandering in search of the bright color for far longer than he’d realized.  The sun was creeping behind the treeline again, the day was gone, and his foolish pursuit of the phantom red had taken him far off the road.  He was in the middle of the forest now, freezing, starving, and with no sign of the worn trail to be seen.  

Despair flooded him and he let his eyes fall closed.  To hell with it.  His exhaustion was bone deep and his blind foolish chase had destroyed whatever fleeting chance he’d had of survival.  He was done.  In a moment, he would let his legs collapse beneath, spilling him into the deep drifts of snow.  He would let his eyes stay closed as he drifted off into a sleep from which he would never wake.  Perhaps it would be peaceful.  It would certainly be a better death than the one his village had intended for him, the one they had given his thieving, degenerate father.  

He didn’t know how long he allowed himself to stand in the freezing twilight but he suddenly realized that he felt a little warmer.  A strange, hyper-present heat was surrounding him from all sides.  His heart leaped, half in relief and half in fear, at this strange new sensation.  Was this death?  It didn’t feel like it and Mikhailo had been close enough to death, courtesy of the late and unmourned Terance Milkovich’s heavy hands, to know the difference.  His body was shivering again, which didn’t seem right.  He had lost the strength to do that hours ago.

A growl, low pitched and warning, finally shocked his eyes back open.  It was near dark but he was just able to make out his surroundings and when he did, he could barely resist the instinct to slam his eyes shut again.  

He was no longer alone in the woods.  The heat he felt was generated by the pack of huge grey wolves that now flanked him in all directions.  Despite the surrounding warmth, Mikhailo felt a rush of cold trickle down his spine.  What little breath he had suddenly rose up and choked him.  The massive animals were perfectly silent, perfectly still, staring at him with strangely knowing eyes.  They encircled him completely like statues in the darkening night.

Where had they come from?  Mikhailo could feel fear returning with the warmth of his body.  This was impossible.  The pack hadn’t been here moments ago, and no wolves, despite their stealth, could move with such silence.  Yet here they were, ignoring the fresh meal he obviously was, staring up at him with curious but controlled gazes.  

He was frozen again, in terror this time, and he could not break the hold on his own body as the largest of the grey wolves suddenly broke rank and stepped closer to him.  It’s head tilted sideways as it moved to stand in front of him.  It’s eyes glowed, though the sun had sunk firmly behind the treeline and there was no light in the forest to give reflection.  No, this light burned from within the massive animal, a luminesce green sheen that drew the his gaze and held it.

This was no wolf.

Still frozen in place, Mikhailo racked his fright ravaged brain, trying to bring forth the information he needed.  He’d heard the tales, of course he had, of travelers lured away by the shapeshifting spirits that the village priest had called wood demons.  The townspeople had all been taught to fear them and his father had scoffed at the very idea of such a creature having any such power.  But Mikhailo and his sister had learned other lessons at the knee of their mother.  She told tales of the creatures protecting the forest and communing with the wolves and bears.  She told of the shapeshifter taking form to lure away the wicked and the cruel.  And his mother would pray to God and to this strange creature that he might one day save them all by snatching Terrance Milkovich away.  

The creature had never come for Mikhailo’s father.  But now, it seemed, it may have come for him.  

His eyes blinked suddenly and he shook himself from the trancelike state into which he had fallen.  The huge wolf was gone, seemingly vanished in the literal blink of his eye, but the others still encircled him.  They had all risen from their haunches now and as he watched, the circle parted in front of him, leaving an opening through which he could walk.  He made no movement, staring stupidly into the forest, but his attention was sharply drawn by a feeling of warm breath by his sides.  

Two more wolves, smaller than the massive gray with the intelligent eyes but still large enough to terrify him, had taken one of his gloved hands in each of their mouths.  For a moment, the sight allowed his panic to truly overtake him and he keened a high pitched sob in the back of his throat.  The animals’ jaws were locked firmly.  They didn’t bite down, but Mikhailo felt a distinct pressure in the teeth as they dug gently into his flesh.  If he tried to pull away, they would seize him immediately.  

The circle of wolves were moving now, milling around restlessly as they waited for some signal.  Mikhailo could feel every hair on his body standing up in a jolt of electric tension and he choked on another strangled cry when something warm and firm butted up against the small of his back.  The wolves at his sides each took a forward pace while the force at his back shoved him deeper into the forest.  One step, two, three.  The wolves fell into step beside him as they propelled him forward, into the unknown darkness.  

Mikhailo let his eyes fall shut again.  There was nothing else to do.  These wolves, if wolves they even were, were not acting on their own accord.  Someone, or something, was in control, but he couldn’t fight it and thus wouldn’t try.  All he could do was surrender and hope.  He had stepped into the forest looking for some kind of a chance.  He had done some serious shit back in the village but it had all been done to keep his struggling family alive.  Maybe, just maybe, he had been deemed worthy of some demon’s protection.  With a final exhalation of breath, he gave himself over to the gentle tug and prodding of the wolf pack.  

He felt calmer with every step.

He may have walked for hours in formation with the huge, gray animals.  The woods were black as pitch and he let his eyes stay closed, trusting himself to the guidance of the pack.  It was a strange new feeling, this trust.  There was no one but his sister to trust back in the village.  Once, there’d been a mother and brothers who’d had his back, but they were gone, taking that trust with them.  Now, though, with each step forward, he felt it somehow renewed.  He hoped it would turn out okay.  He hoped the pack wasn’t leading him towards his death. He hoped…

There was a sudden stillness in the air around him.  His hands were free.  There was no steady push against the small of his back.  The pulse of twenty beating hearts had disappeared as quickly as they had come.  Traceless in the night.

It was still and silent but the air felt alive and tangible around him.  He skin prickled as he felt the sudden warmth of another’s breath grazing across the bridge of his nose.  A bubble of nervous profanity rose up and lodge in his chest.  He exhaled slowly, feeling the strange vacuum of air pulled away from him and sucked in by a mouth only inches from his own.  Another warm breath brushed against his cheeks and he drank it in, tasting the sweetness on the air as it flowed over his tongue.  He swallowed.  He sighed.

He opened his eyes.

The green glowing gaze was staring back at him.

He sucked in a moan, not of terror but of overwhelming sensation.  His mouth ran dry and his eyes blinked wide, locked, and fixed on the green orbs.  They mesmerized him, drew him in, and held him in their depth.  

They were green, too green, inhumanely green, green like the forest on its brightest, greenest day.  The eyes stepped closer, staring into him from above and he tilted his head back to hold the stare.  A wide mouth smirked against his and now they were truly sharing breath, he and this creature with eyes that were the forest.  

Mikhailo blinked rapidly.  Breaking the gaze was almost painful.  It left him with a deep, searing longing in his heart but he had to see what he was looking at.  The creature seemed to understand, taking two steps backward and holding its arms out to the sides, head coked sideways and a devious little smile decorating its lips.

_ His _ lips.  It was a man, of sorts.  He was tall and well-formed, with smooth planes of muscle spanning beneath alabaster skin.  He was shirtless and shoeless, standing in the freezing snow in nothing but brown leather trousers that laced up the sides.  The man emitted a glow that made him perfectly visible, despite the forest darkness, but if all of that had not been enough to impress upon Mikhailo that he stood before no mere mortal, the man’s face would have pushed him to belief.

The face was beautiful.  Mikhailo had known his own proclivities since he was a youth, hiding them carefully from the oppressive eyes of the priest and his own violently intolerant father.  He’d have been cast out of the village years ago if he’d ever let his eyes linger so admiringly on the face of any of the other young village men.  Here, though, an appreciative gaze seemed like the least dangerous part of his current predicament.  He’d been hauled deep into the snowy forest by a pack of wolves and now stood only inches away from what could only be a leshi, a creature viewed as a monster by the church and the majority of the village.  The  _ demonspirtman’s _ green gaze was fixated on him.  There was no escape.  Whatever it wanted from him, it could easily take.

So he may as well look his fill while he could.  

The mouth, the full lips that had danced over his and fed him breath, split open to reveal straight white teeth that were somehow too sharp to be fully human.  The nose and cheekbones were strong and perfect. And the eyes...the eyes…

No, he couldn’t fall back into that gaze, even if all his heart wanted right now was to drown in those eyes and drink in that breath.  He needed to look, to know what he was dealing with.  

Mikhailo forced his own eyes up.  The leshi’s hair was a stunning red, too red to be a man’s, and that realization actually gave him some relief.  It had been this spirit that he had seen, teasing him and tempting him.  The spirit had been with him all day.  

The strange man took another step back and the smirk on his lips deepened.  Mikhailo could feel a sharp gasp emit from his chest as he finally caught sight of the top of the man’s head.  A pair of deep black horns curled back from his brow. 

Mikhailo inhaled deeply, real fear pulsing through him for the first time since he’d tasted the spirit’s breath.   _ Demon? _  The thought ripped through his mind again, only to met by a sardonic, challenging quirk of a brow from the beautiful creature in front of him.  No, he didn’t believe that.  He couldn’t.  Those were the words of the village priest, a man who had made him believe it was evil to love who he wanted to love, a man who had stood silently by with dark malevolence in his eyes as the villagers had chased Mikhailo from the safety of the town walls and into the freezing darkness to die.  But his mother had believed in the leshii.  She had believed that they protected the forest.  And if he was going to give authority to anyone’s words, it would be his mother’s.

A bitter gust of wind pulled Mikhailo from his thoughts, sending another violent shudder through his body.  Fuck, but he’d forgotten he was still freezing, still standing in the dark, frigid forest, and unlike the spirit in front of him, he was not immune to the deathly cold.  His body felt stiff  and a low, gutteral gasp of pain escaped his throat.

The small sound spurred the red haired spirit into motion.  The teasing smile slipped from his lips and he took two steps forward.  Mikhailo couldn’t think or react or pull away as the leshi spilled another sweet breath into his mouth.  

It cleared his thoughts and staved off the physical pain of his body, but the relief was as fleeting as the breath.  It would not sustain him on its own.  He looked up, meeting the green gaze again as the leshi stared down at him.  All trace of humor had faded from the beautiful face, which burned now with intent challenge.  The red haired man took a step back, then another, then another.  Mikhailo could feel another desperate cry escape him and his body lurched forward.  The leshi paused.

And held out an upturned palm.

Mikhailo could barely feel his teeth as they bit into his lower lip.  He understood.  How could he not?  This was an offer, a choice.  He could choose fear and stay.  And die.  Or he could choose trust and possibly live.  He peeled his eyes from the proffered hand and met the glowing green gaze again.  There was so much in those eyes, and much of it scared and confused him, but he couldn’t make himself care.  

He wanted it. Whatever it was, he wanted it all.

He took a step forward, then another, on feet so frozen he could barely move them.  The red haired spirit’s lips split into a genuine smile, glowing so bright Mikhailo could practically feel the heat.  His fingers touched the man’s hand and a jolt of hot lightening ripped through his body.  His legs gave out and warm, strong arms enveloped him before he hit the snow.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey and the "wood demon"

He came back to consciousness gradually.  At first, it was nothing but the vague awareness that he was lying down, that the surface beneath him was soft but firm.  Then, there was the muted orange light that danced gently on the other side of his eyelids.  Mikhailo turned his head to the side but the simple movement sapped his energy and roiled his stomach.  He was surrounded by soft, warm fur but when he tried to flex his fingers in it, a deep, remonstrative growl rumbled from his side.

The fur was alive!

Memories flooded him.  The village...the cold...the  _ wolves _ !  That’s what he felt.  They’d dragged him through the forest and now he was here, surrounded by them.  Oh God!  Oh fuck!  He had to open…

He forced his eyelids up.  The simple action sapped him and his vision swam from the exertion.  There was little light but if he squinted, he could vaguely make out a dull stone ceiling hanging low above him.  With tremendous, painful effort, he raised his head just enough to glance down the length of his body.  

As he’d feared, he lay surrounded by the piled, sleeping bodies of the gray wolf pack that had pulled him through the forest.  His own body lay bare among them, stripped of everything, even his shoes, and he would have drawn in a panicked breath if his face could move.  It couldn’t though.  The skin was stiff and immobile and he realized with growing dismay that he had likely succumbed to frostbite.  His face, his hands, his feet.  He could move none of them, feel none of them, and a burst of hot, helpless tears pricked his eyes.  

Where the fuck was he?  What the fuck was happening to him? 

A rumble ran through the wolf pack, passing from one warm gray body to another.  Mikhailo could hear them even over his own anxious, hitching breaths.  The stone ceiling above him reflected an orange glow that could only be firelight, but firelight meant fire and fire meant…

The green eyes!  How the hell could he have forgotten?  Mikhailo tried to will himself to raise his head again, but the task seemed insurmountable and his attention was drawn away by the wolves’ shifting bodies.  They parted as one, just like in the woods, clearing a path once again for someone to make their way through.  Someone or something.  Mikhailo forced his head to loll sideways towards the cave’s mouth, but the heaving, contented pile of gray fur blocked his view.  There was a fire, the dancing light was brighter there, but he could see nothing but the resettling bodies of the wolves.  They had made space around him, leaving him exposed to whomever else was roaming about the warm little cave.  Drawing in deep breaths, Mikhailo bit back a pained cry and forced his head up once more.  

He was there, the demon spirit man.  The horned man.  The man with hair and eyes too bright to be a man.  He was sprawled in a lanky crouch, one huge hand resting against the cave’s low hanging ceiling while the other braced his weight on the floor.  It was a strange, inhuman pose that managed to be both gangly and graceful at the same time.  And he was nude, completely and unabashedly, as he huddled in loose limbed comfort down by Mikhailo’s feet.  

Mikhailo wanted to stare.  He wanted to fixate on those green eyes and drink in that perfect face and never look away.  He felt a tinge of dread run over him, undoubtedly born from a lifetime spent suppressing his carnal desires for fear of the wrath of his bastard father and the village priest, but as quickly as the feeling materialized, it was gone.  This beautiful creature had clearly been the one who had peeled away his frozen clothes and helped bury him in the warmth of the wolf pack.  He had offered him his hand, had scooped him up in his arms and carried him back to this place.  Hell, he had fed Mikhailo his own sustaining breath.  No, this strange spirit man would not give two cow shits about another man staring at him.  In truth, he looked perfectly content to simply stare back.  There was a hunger mixed into his pensive gaze and that hunger was one Mikhailo recognized.  He’d felt it himself.  He’d never understood and always feared it.  But he’d felt it.

The last remnant of his vanishing strength abandoned him suddenly.  With a groan, he felt his head fall back to the ground.  He had nothing left.  He couldn’t feel his face or half his body and the parts he could feel screamed with pain.  His eyes teared again as he stared helplessly up at the stone ceiling.  What was the point of this?  If the leshi really was the guardian spirit his mother had promised, then he’d likely only saved Mikhailo for him to succumb to a slower death.  

But Mikhailo had no time to dwell on his despair.  The leshi was moving, crawling up his body with fluid animalism, the playful interest in his swirling eyes replaced with a look of intense determination.  Mikhailo could only lie helpless and watch as the huge, lithe creature settled into a kneeling crouch over top of  him.  He leaned down close, studied concern on his face as his ran his inquisitive green eyes over the damaged skin.  

Mikhailo couldn’t look away.  He couldn’t move.  He lay helplessly beneath the other man as a stomach roiling combination of pain, misery, and bizarre hope inundated him.  He was panting, drawing in sharp, panicky gasps, when the strange spirit suddenly bent closer, inhaled deeply, and stole every bit of his breath away.  

He choked.  A squeezing knot seized around his chest but he was helpless to fight it off.  Terror and desperation and  _ demon _ all flew through his mind again, but the strange green eyes latched ahold of his.  The calm washed over him in a rolling wave even as the red headed spirit drew every last breath from his body.  

The calm remained as the horned man drew in even nearer, until his lips hovered only a hair’s breadth away.  He locked his gaze with Mikhailo’s blue eyes and gently blew a steady breath of warm, honey sweet air into his mouth.  

The wind bitten man could feel his whole body shiver instinctively.  The red man’s breath slid deliciously down his throat and drove away the bands of pain in his chest.  When his lungs filled, Mikhailo breathed out reflexively but the leshi simply repeated the process, drawing every last wisp from his aching chest, only to fill him with more of his own warm insufflation.  Mikhailo lost himself to the process and the swirling green of the eyes.  A steady, pulsing, healing thrum was flowing through his body, reaching further with each exchange of breath.  He gave himself over completely, letting his whole world become the green gaze as his bone sore, frozen body became supple and clement against the soft nest on the cave floor.  

He wasn’t sure when the leshi’s healing ministrations turned from pleasant to pleasurable but it was the pleased smirk twisting up the corners of the creature’s mouth that broke Mikhailo ever so slightly from his trance.  He could hear, suddenly, the panting keens he was emitting with each breath.  He could feel the way his shoulder blades and the heels on his freshly mobile feet were digging at the soft ground to relieve the pulses of electric heat that quivered beneath his skin.  His whole body was throbbing with blissful energy and he was suddenly very aware that he was lying naked beneath an equally naked man while sporting a fully engorged erection.

He considered panicking.  But fuck that.  The idea couldn’t quite permeate the warm honey calm of the leshi’s green eyes and sweet, healing breath.  Besides, the horned man didn’t seem to give a shit, judging by the way his smirking lips split into a full and satisfied smile above him.

The spirit man gave no warning when he pulled back suddenly, though he continued to stare intently down at the human as he lay on the cave floor.  Mikhailo flinched momentarily at the sudden withdrawal but his body took over on instinct, drawing in independent breath.  The action drew a hum of approval from the leshi as he hovered above him. .

“Good,” he murmured simply, though there was nothing simple about the first word the strange creature spoke.  His voice was light and melodious but there was a slight echo to it that made Mikhailo think of the rumble that lingered over the mountains after a thunderclap.  It sounded like power, power that was leashed and controlled but still present, and it only reminded him further that the red haired man was no man at all.  With a sudden renewal of nervous energy, Mikhailo scrambled up onto his elbows, only to grimace and groan in pain.  Angry knifepricks stabbed at every muscle in his body and the leshi sprang forward with inhuman speed.  The warm, large palm of one hand pressed against his chest, pushing him gently but insistently back to the ground.  

“Where do you hurt?” the creature asked, scanning Mikhailo’s body assessingly.

“Fuck!” the word spilled from his lips before he could stop it.  He probably shouldn’t curse in front of demigods of the forest but he had a filthy mouth even on good days and this wasn’t one of those.  “Fucking everywhere.” He gritted his teeth.  “My legs,” he panted in a voice that was stiff with pain, “It’s the worst there.”

The horned man was moving in an instant, creeping over the wolves and into the depths of the cave.  Mikhailo glanced at the sleeping animals as he tried to follow the redhead’s retreat with his eyes.  He’d forgotten they were there, as caught up as he was in the strange man’s ministrations, and the renewed agony in his legs and abdomen.  He huffed another groan of pain and bit down on his lower lip.  Why,  _ why the hell  _ had he tried to sit up?

When the leshi slithered back over the wolf pile, he held two rough stone containers in his hand.  He stretched out along Mikhailo’s side and pulled a large cork from one of the little pots.  With one fingertip, he scooped up a tiny amount of a dark, sticky looking substance and held it up to Mikhailo’s mouth.  

“What is it?” he asked, searching the green eyes with apprehension.  

“It will take away your pain,” the redhead answered evenly, “and this,” he gestured with his chin towards the second container, “will help heal all your wounds.”  He slid a large hand beneath the back of Mikhailo’s head and lifted it slightly, letting his thumb brush gently against a cheekbone.  Mikhailo felt himself lean into the touch and his lips parted instinctively to give the other man access to his mouth even as his brain screamed a warning.  But that was foolishness, and the look the redhead sent him only confirmed it.  Whatever this was, it wouldn’t hurt him.  If the leshi had wanted to do that, he would’ve just left him in the forest.  

A warm fingertip smeared the sticky substance across the middle of his tongue.  It was cloyingly sweet and Mikhailo felt his lips close as he sucked every trace from the long digit as it retreated from his mouth.  Beside him, a slight shudder ran through the horned man and his fingers lingered for a moment on Mikhailo’s chin before he laid his head carefully down.  There was not time to dwell on that though.  A warm influx was running through his body, spreading through the aching muscles of his chest and abdomen and down the length of his legs.  He groaned again but this time it was in relief as the pain melted away.  He felt his own lips split into a knowing smile.

“Poppies?”

The spirit man nodded as he fiddled with the other container.  He slunk down by Mikhailo’s feet again and the wolves shifted to make room.  

“My sister has a votaress and confidant who is also a healer.  These are her wares.”  He scooped what appeared to be a beige colored salve into his hand and rubbed it between his palms.  Mikhailo could only watch as the horned man crept closer to him, taking one of his ankles and pulling it up to lay it against an alabaster shoulder.  He began to work his fingers into the bridge of the sore foot, letting his breath skim across the skin.  

Mikhailo cries out loud despite himself as the last vestiges of pain left his foot .  The leshi was working his strong fingers down the length of his calf and he let his head loll gently from side to side to keep his fucking moans at bay.  Christ’s crown, it felt good.  The horned man was skirting closer, kneeling between his legs now as he began to work his fingers down one thigh.  

“You have nice legs.”

“Oh fuck you.”

The words left his mouth before he could think.  Mikhailo’s head shot up and he was already wording an apology when he caught sight of the renewed smirk and the mischievous glint in the green eyes that stared down at him.  The eyes seemed to glow with an impish heat as the redhead brought his lips close and blew a line of breath along his inner thigh.  Mikhailo sucked in a breath as the warm wisps of air pooled at the crease, brushing at his groin.  Fuck, he couldn’t let that happen again.  He didn’t care if the leshi seemed to be enjoying it.  He had to get his mind on other things.

“You have a sister?” he asked.  

The leshi only looked more amused.  He lay Mikhailo’s leg to the side and turned towards the other ankle.  

“I do,” he replied simply, and Mikhailo could hear the affection in his voice,  “I have a whole family.  Brothers, sisters, even parents after a sort.”

The redhead’s long fingers were working their way down a second thigh.  Mikhailo kept his eyes fixed on the green gaze.  “Are they all…

“Like me?” the redhead asked.  He was staring down into Mikhailo’s blue eyes intently now, kneeling at the crux of his thighs.  Both of his large hands were working over Mikhailo’s abdomen and chest muscles.  “At their roots, they are.  We’ve all grown in different directions but we will always be each other’s home.”

Mikhailo nodded absently.  He could feel himself sinking into the depths of the forest green gaze again.  “That sounds nice.” he murmured wistfully, thinking of his own shattered family.

“It can be burdensome, but it’s good to have family.” the redhead was stretching out over top of him, bracing his weight on a forearm that he curled around the top of Mikhailo’s head.  With his other hand, he pressed soothing circles into the human’s chest muscles.  Mikhailo could vaguely sense the change in their position but his mind was full of the green eyes and the words.

“I wouldn’t know.”

The leshi smiled.  “You would.”

“They’re all dead now.”

“Not your sister.”

Mickey started but the redhead’s soothing fingers gentled him quickly.  “I know all of the people in your village, Mickey.  They live in my forest.  I protect them.  Or I protect the forest from them.”

“How do you…”

“Mickey?  Your mother called you that.  Your sister still does.” He smiled down into Mikhailo’s blue eyes.  “Can I?”

Mikhailo stared up at him.  “Yes,” he whispered breathlessly as the horned man smiled down at him.  “You know of my sister?” he asked hurriedly.

A darkness flitted across the leshi’s face.  “Of course.” he answered shortly, his fingers curling a little tighter around Mikhailo’s shoulder.  The human didn’t think.  He just let his own fingers trail up the horned man’s arms.  The touch calmed the angry fire in the leshi’s green eyes.  “She deserves better than the brute she’s married to,” he said.  His thumb fell to stroking the line of Mikhailo’s throat.

“What’s your name?” 

Mikhailo started slightly at his own question and the timber of his voice.  It sounded slightly slurred, as if he’d drunk too much ale.  He was vaguely aware of the leshi’s weight settling on him, of the creature’s skin pressing between his thighs.  But he wanted to know the answer to his question.

“I have several.  Some I couldn’t explain to you.  Not yet, at least.  My kind has always used John when we travel among men.”

“John?”

“Ivan in your tongue.  But my younger sister traveled to the Irish Isles some centuries ago and met a red haired race.  So she changed it to Ian.”

“Ian?” He liked the name.  It sounded as bright as the leshi’s hair and the green of his eyes.  The weight against him shifted as the horned man, no  _ Ian, _ drew in a sudden hitching breath.

“Say it again,” he breathed as he leaned in closer, letting his sweet breath warm Mikhailo’s ear.  

“Ian.”

“Mickey.”

Fuck.  Oh, fuck.  His body was pulsing again, shifting in delicate increments against Ian’s hot skin.  Nerve endings in his most intimate places were roaring back to life and he realized that his cock was full and throbbing again.  Ian trembled above him, sliding their bodies together in delicate thrusts.  “Mickey,” he whispered again and Mikhailo had never heard that name said with such heat.  Ian was pressing gentle nips along his throat now, up an over his jaw.  He was reaching for his lips now and he was going to kiss him and…

“No!” 

No, no, they couldn’t.  Mikhailo scrambled backwards, backing into the wolf pile as he went.  One gray wolf turned and gave him an annoyed huff before plopping his head back down to sleep.  The others didn’t notice.  Mikhailo stared down at his hands, panting in a panic.  His body was pain free and agile again and crouched on the floor, ready to spring, ready to fight off the threat.

_ What threat? _

He glanced up suddenly, reality breaking through his opium and lust drunk mind.  He’d panicked.  He’d fallen into the mindset of the darkest, most inhumane people he’d ever known.  The people who’d told him he was wrong to like what he liked were gone now.  They’d thrown him away.  And now that they had, he didn’t have to give a shit what they thought.  Here, in this place, he had no reason to hide.  If he wanted to kiss another man, to invite another man into his body, there was nothing to fear.  Who would judge?  The wolves?  Definitely not the beautiful forest god who seemed as anxious to touch and taste as he was.

He glanced up, fresh nerves suddenly coursing through him.  If he’d offended the leshi, he’d be powerless.  He couldn’t protect himself from a guardian spirit.

But Ian didn’t look angry.  His mouth was turned up in a remonstrative little grin as he sat back, calmly waiting for the silly human to finally realize the obvious.  They could kiss and touch and fuck each other senseless in this place if they wanted.  They were completely safe.  

With a frustrated huff of breath, Mikhailo crawled forward, wrapping his arms and legs around Ian’s firm body and crushing their lips together.  

He had no idea how long they kissed.  He’d lost himself so quickly in the exploration of Ian’s mouth that hours could have passed and he wouldn’t have realized.  When Ian slung his arms around his waist and tipped them back into the soft nest on the cave floor, he barely even noticed.  He just kept kissing him, claiming Ian’s lips as if they were the only thing that mattered in the world.  And they were.  At that moment, they were everything.

That changed, though, when Ian shifted over top of his, brushing their hips together.  Mikhailo’s entire body was thrumming with electricity again but this time Ian hadn’t needed to give him his breath.  Touching him had been enough.  The sensations were new to Mikhailo.  He had never been willing to risk any kind of secret liaison, not with his father’s and the village priest’s rabid hatred of the “sinful” lifestyle.  He’d never been touched like this by another person and so it was no real surprise that he was practically panting for release based on nothing but the caress of Ian’s lips and warm skin.  The redhead seemed well aware of this, grinning through his kisses and casually grinding their cocks together while Mikhailo moaned around his tongue. He could have done it forever, simply rutted against the horned man’s thigh until they both came, but at the moment, Ian broke away and cupped his chin. 

“I want to have you.” he stated, wild heat in his voice and his eyes as he stared down, “Can I have you?”

Mikhailo didn’t think.  He just nodded and dragged their lips back together, wrapping his arms around the back of Ian’s neck.  The redhead’s weight was warm and exhilarating, covering his oversensitive skin with delicious pressure.  Ian was holding him close with one arm while the long fingers trailed down his chest and stomach.  His flesh jumped beneath the touch and he keened into the leshi’s mouth but those sensations could not compare to the jolt of pleasure that raced through him when Ian reached between his legs and cupped his length.  

“Fuck,” he cried, breaking the kiss.  He arched involuntarily and the redhead wasted no time running his tongue along the lines of his exposed throat. 

“Can I have you?” he asked again, even as Mikhailo could feel him kissing his way down his chest.

“Yes,” he spit out desperately as his hands pawed at the red man’s shoulders.  He could feel Ian’s full lips smile against his underbelly and a sarcastic retort rose to his lips but Mikhailo lost his words and all sense when the leshi’s full mouth suddenly closed around the length of his cock.

Fuck!  Fucking Christ in heaven!  An actual wail of pleasure escaped his mouth and his hands scrabbled helplessly into the stone floor above his head as Ian suckled up and down his shaft.  His cries were incoherent, echoing off the walls of the cave.  God, god,  _ god _ he was losing control.  He would spill in Ian’s mouth if this continued and while that sounded  _ amazing _ , he wanted this first time to be something else.  Something he’d always wanted.  

But of course, Ian knew, as he’d known so much about him.  The intense pressure abated as the redhead pulled his mouth away and began pressing soft, teasing kisses along the length of the shaft.  Mikhailo wailed again, this time in protest, but the sound died on his lips when he felt the first probing pressure of a thick fingertip at his sensitive entrance. 

Oh fuck!  This,  _ this _ was what he wanted.  What he’d never thought to have.  To be filled and taken, to be…

Gah!  Words left him completely as Ian breached him, one long firm finger sliding inside as deeply as it could reach.  He cried nonsense and pushed back against the intrusion, wanting it deeper and harder and more.  He could feel a chuckle against his skin as Ian continued to gently kiss and tongue at the hypersensitive head of his cock.  A second finger joined the first and Mikhailo’s head whipped back and forth, the sensation overpowering and yet not nearly enough.  He could feel Ian’s giddiness as the redheaded spirit moved down to nip at base of his shaft.  The long fingers inside of him glided easily, stretching them and opening him and he realized that Ian had slicked the way.  How?  The salve?  It didn’t matter.  When the wild eyed leshi added a third finger, the thought fled his mind.  

Mikhailo was an incoherent mess by the time the wild red haired spirit crawled back up over him.  He was clawing at the leshi, begging with wordless babbles, but when he opened his eyes and stared up at the face above him, he fell into an awed silence.  

He’d realized back in the forest that the man he’d met was no man, that he’d somehow encountered on of the old gods, the ones the priest called demons but whom the old and wise called guardians.  The creature was playful and gentle but he was also ancient and powerful beyond anything Mikhailo had ever encountered in his short life.  As he stared up into swirling green eyes above him, he could see all of that power.  It leaked out around the forest god, framing him in an aura of green light.  It was terrifying and erotically enticing but through all of it, though Ian’s eyes burned with an omnipotent heat, his lips never lost their gentle smile.  

“I want to have you,” he panted again as he nuzzled against the sides of Mikhailo’s throat, “Please, Mickey, tell me I can have you.”

“You have me.” was the simple reply, the only one Mikhailo was capable of as the red haired man rutted gently against his body, “Fuck, please, you have me.”

Ian’s eyes locked on his, and Mikhailo could feel that deep, swirling green sucking him down into their depths.  He stared up into that green, green like the forest, green that  _ was _ the forest, and he gasped against a sudden, sharp influx of pain.  It faded quickly though, overwhelmed by a wave of pleasure that pressed and fought its way deeper and deeper inside of him.  It was crawling into him, into every orifice and every pore.  He was helpless against it and content in his helplessness.  His whole world was the plundering pleasure inside of him and the color green.  The leshi was clawing deeper and deeper within him from every angle, nudging and rooting at his very heart, and suddenly, a sweet melodic voice whispered in his ear. “I have you now.”

His whole body snapped and suddenly he was back.  In the cave, in the heat of a dozen gray wolves, in Ian’s arms.  The redhead had buried his face in Mikhailo’s neck and the human suddenly found the briefest moment of clarity to understand what was happening.  He was lying on his back in the middle of the wolves’ warm nest with his thighs spread wide and a beautiful naked man between them.  He was...

...gods, he was being fucked.  All the polite words, bedding, coupling, laying together, none of them fit.  No, he was being fucked, determinedly, forcefully, deliciously fucked by a forest god’s cock and it was none of the filthy things he’d been led to believe.  No, it was perfect to be so stretched and full in the most intimate places...no, no, fuck that, he wouldn’t use the careful words.  He was being fucked...in the ass...by Ian’s cock...and the vicious, hateful village priest could take all his ranting of sin and take it straight to hell because this,  _ this _ , was truly glorious.  

His arms and legs moved independently, wrapping themselves tightly around the body that sprawled over him, filling him again and again.  Mikhailo was so drunk on the pleasure that he could do nothing but cling, tighter and tighter, as Ian drove inside of him with rhythmic perfection.  He could have screamed from the sensation but he didn’t.  Instead, he clung tightly to Ian, digging his teeth into the meat of his lover’s shoulder to hoard and contain his bliss.  

It was a favor that Ian returned.  The horned man dug his teeth, gently but firmly, into the delicate skin of Mikhailo’s throat as his body seized, pouring his release into the willing body beneath him.  Mikhailo felt his whole body jerk at the sensation, his arms and legs clinging even tighter as the wave of heat within him triggered his own climax.  It went on and on, surge after surge of sensation pulsing through him and now he was crying out, emitting sounds uncontrollably as Ian used his cock to nurse the last little tendrils of ecstasy from their connected bodies.  

They lay, panting and cooling together on the floor of the cave, surrounded by a pack of wolves that still slept deeply.  Ian was pressing warm kisses against Mikhailo’s throat but when he tried to shift, the human clung to him even harder.  The action drew a small laugh from the demigod.

“You have no need to hold me so close anymore,” the red haired man teased, laying gentle kisses against Mikhailo’s lips.  “I have you now.”  He shifted in the human’s arms, working his mouth down Mikhailo’s chest until his lips rested above his heart.  “I have you here,” he murmured, pressing warm kisses against Mikhailo’s breast bone.

They lay peacefully for several minutes, as Mikhailo caught his breath.  He felt utterly languid but his mind could not quite rest.  Glancing down, he let his hands run through the red locks as they against his chest.  

“What do you want now?” he asked, hiding his trepidation.

Ian looked up, his expression a blend of amusement and surprise.  “I want nothing,” he said simply, leaning down quickly to press another kiss over Mikhailo’s heart.  “All I want is to have you.”

Mikhailo snorted.  “You just had me.  And you can definitely have me again…”

His words were cut off by a firm finger pressing against his lips. 

“I don’t want to fuck you,” the leshi said as he looked up at him from his chest.  “I mean, I do want that, but that isn’t what I meant.  I want to have you, Mickey, forever,” The words sent a delicious shiver up Mikhailo’s spine.  Ian’s long fingers moved to caress his cheek.  “Have you.  Hold you.”

“You want to fucking marry me?”

Ian’s smile only deepened.  “I want to have you,” he repeated simply, “I want to keep you.”  He let his huge hand frame Mikhailo’s face, “I suppose your race would call it marriage.”

Mikhailo started against him.  “Shit.” he muttered with awe in his voice, “You don’t even know me really.”

Ian’s smile turned teasing, “I don’t?” he asked impishly.  

Mikhailo huffed.  “I don’t mean my ass,” he muttered but Ian only laughed.  

“I know your mouth, too.” he replied, shifting his body up to brush his tongue playfully along the human’s lips.  Pulling his head back, he locked emerald eyes on Mikhailo’s blue gaze.  “I know a great deal about you.  I know your soul,” He leaned closer, and his expression turned serious, “I like your soul.  I think you’ll like mine, too.  You’re a tough, devious little thief but at your core, you are like me, a protector.  When you value something, when you love it, you will fight to the death for it.”  He pressed a firm kiss to Mikhailo’s lips. “Am I wrong?”

Mikhailo stared up into the green eyes, letting the words play over and over in his head.  No, no, the leshi wasn’t wrong.  

“Mickey.”

_ What? _

“What?”

Ian licked at his lips again.  “Mickey.  That’s your name.  The people who love you call you that.  You’re father named you Mikhailo.  He’s dead and so is his hold on you.  You’re Mickey because that’s what the ones who love you know you as.”

“But you don’t…”

“You’re Mickey!” Ian had risen up on his hands and knees over him and there was a stubborn petulance in them that Mikhailo, no  _ Mickey _ , Mickey, his name was Mickey, that Mickey hadn’t seen yet.”

“I’m Mickey,” he asked, enjoying the sound of the name.  He could hear his mother saying it, his sister.  But he liked how Ian said it best.

“You’re Mickey,” Ian insisted, but there was a cautious questioning in his voice.  He was studying the human carefully, but when Mickey gave him a quick nod of his head, his face broke into an ethereal grin.

“Mickey,” he repeated gleefully, pressing kisses to the human’s throat and chest.  

Mickey startled.  Though it seemed impossible, he could feel his body starting to respond to the redhead’s ministrations again.  

Ian only gazed down at him. “Mickey,” he repeated giddily as he worked his lips down the length of the other man’s body.  

Mickey’s nerves were coming alive again under his lover’s determined hands.  He let his own fingers curl into long red tresses as Ian tongued lightly at his hardening shaft.  His eyes slid closed and his mouth dropped open in a moan.  

All around them, the wolves slept. 

*************************************************************************************

The forest was thick and wild, overgrown in the summer heat.  The underbrush was heavy, but despite the impediments, the boy with the rifle managed to find a sure foothold with every careful step.  He shouldn’t be so far away from the rest of the hunting party, he knew, but he had a feeling.

He stepped carefully, raised his father’s rifle, and took aim.

The shot rang true.  The twelve point red stag fell to its side.  The animal gave a final, huffing breath and lay dead.

The boy took two steps forward before he stopped, his deep blue gaze leaving his kill and drifting towards the upper branches of a tree to his left.  For a brief moment, he thought he saw a large shape perched on one of the branches, but no.  That would have been impossible.  The branch couldn’t have held much weight.

With a final glance, the raven haired boy turned back to his kill.  At ten, he was filling out, but he was still too small to carry an animal of such size home.  But he could dress it while he waited for the rest of the hunting party to arrive, drawn by the sound of his shot.  With an air of determination, he drew his knife from the sheath at his waist.

On the branch above, where the youth’s eyes had lingered, a lithe creature with matching blue eyes crouched, balancing inhumanly on the bow as he watched the boy with pride in his heart.  Behind him, the strange spirit man felt an additional weight sag the branch slightly.  He wasn’t surprised when familiar hands wrapped around him, drifting down the bare skin of his chest and stomach and toying with the waistband of his leather breaches.  

“He got the stag?” Ian asked against his ear. “Was this your doing?”

Mickey smiled.  “A bit.  I only guided his steps.  The ground’s so overgrown here.”  He could feel Ian smirking against his throat.

“But the bear that killed his father this winter.  You still maintain that wasn’t you?”

Mickey huffed with mock indignation, “I’ve told you before.  That foolish shit needed no help from me to get his useless ass eaten.  I did nothing but enjoy the results.” He turned to glare up at the red haired spirit behind him with mock indignation, “As if you didn’t already know that.”

Ian smiled down at him, lapping gently at his lips.  “The boy.  Do you want to stay with him here?”

Mickey turned back towards his sister’s eldest son, watching as the kid gutted the animal with proficiency.  He could hear the approaching footsteps of the rest of the village hunting party on the moist ground.

“The others are coming.” he murmured, drawing in a breath as Ian ran a hand over his chest again.  “This is the second stag he’s taken down in as many weeks.”

“That should give him some prestige in the village.” Ian noted, “And it should give your sister some decent bargaining power.”  The leshi glanced at the young boy. “He has a good soul, too.  A protective soul.  If he and those like him can rise, they can turn the tide for the whole village.”

Mickey nodded, letting his weight rest back against the bare chest of his  _ loverguardiandemonlover _ , fuck, sometimes he didn’t know the word.  His Ian.  He leaned against him.  In the distance, he could see the other hunters making their way through the brush. 

“We can go.” he murmured, but Ian was already drawing a leg up over the branch, tumbling them off their perch.

The boy looked up suddenly from his task, cocking his head to the side.  He thought for certain that he’d seen something fall from the branch he’d eyed only a moment before.  But there was nothing on the ground and the grass and fern fronds were perfect and undisturbed.  The boy returned to his work, but now a small smile curved his lips.

His mother had told him stories of the leshii.  Sure, the village priest decried the spirits as demons from hell, but his mother didn’t believe that.  Her own mother had told her that the leshii were the protectors of the forest and all who dwelled within it.  His mother believed that with all her heart.

And the boy tended to believe his mother. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of based this scene very lightly on the club scene from 4x08 with Ian all comfortable in his environment and Mickey apprehensively realizing that he's actually in a safe place.

**Author's Note:**

> I have mentioned in comments attached to my previous works that I'm mostly going to write AUs now, even though I did ultimately decide to watch the new season and haven't been too disappointed by it (Lip and Jeremy playing him are just pulling my heart strings). So, this is kind of a trial run for me for a much longer and more complicated fantasy and science fiction style AU I'm in the process of outlining. I always find AUs hard because of the challenge of taking a character out of their context while staying true to the character. I'd love to hear people's thoughts on how that goes in this.


End file.
